


My Heart Burns There Too

by Indecision



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Firefighter Geralt, First Dates, First Meetings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kinda, M/M, Modern AU, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, coffee dates, house fire, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indecision/pseuds/Indecision
Summary: He was a firefighter, he had his apartment burned down, can I make it anymore obvious?Jaskier's woken suddenly by smoke in his apartment and finds himself trapped. Just when he thinks his career as a struggling musician has finally come to a tragic close, he wakes up outside to find a ferociously handsome medic tending to him, and there's something about him that Jaskier just can't tear his gaze away from. Is it his enormous and frankly unfair musculature? His ever impassive expression? Or maybe those deadly golden eyes...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 120





	1. The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> I have seen only ONE Firefighter!Geralt fic in my quest for more Geraskier content. Criminal. Anyway I've never seen the show but they're some of my favorite video games and this quarantine got me fucked up so here you go.

Jaskier had always heard to stay close to the ground under the smoke line in case of a fire. He’d been drilled in school to “Stop, Drop and Roll,” to throw baking soda on grease fires, never water. But somehow, as the heat scorched his skin and smoke roiled from every corner, blurring his vision and stinging his throat, he couldn’t seem to remember a thing. He’d be hard pressed to tell you his name if he’d been asked. He stumbled again and fell to a knee in the hallway, clinging to the wall as he wretched himself to his feet. The smoke was so thick now he couldn’t see and every breath came with less and less relief to the burning ache in his chest. His thoughts were singular; to get down the hall to the front door, to get outside, to get air. To get away from the flames he could see pouring from the kitchen ahead of him. His eyes watered horribly, the tears evaporating from his cheeks as the fire dispelled all moisture from the room. Jaskier’s panic peaked as he tried again to push closer to the kitchen only to halt at the edge of the hall when the searing heat pushed him back again. Everything was so _loud_ , Jaskier had never known fire could roar stronger than any beast, and it only added to the assault on his senses, leaving him confused and disoriented. He could faintly hear a sharp crack, and a sudden crash that sent another wave of dust and smoke down into his straining lungs. Backpedalling, he stumbled over himself and made no move to get up when he fell over backwards. He needed to collect himself, just needed a moment to think but the buzzing in his head was relentless, the fire too loud and his breathing stifled. The smoke was thick enough he could hardly tell the difference when he blinked, and with a start realized he hadn’t remembered closing his eyes at all. Black spots danced ominously on his periphery as the panic in his chest struggled to keep him conscious when he heard another crash.  


_If the fire didn’t kill him, then the smoke would, and if the smoke didn’t, the apartment falling down around him would,_ he thought with a jarring indifference. Sitting slumped against the wall, he almost thought he could hear voices. He realized his eyes had slid closed again but couldn’t bother to open them. His neck lolled uncomfortably as he felt his body lighten and the strangest sensation came over him, as if he were floating. He jostled a bit and his head straightened when his cheek came to rest on something firm and scratchy, and though he made the great effort to crack his eyes open, his vision was muddled and the smoke forced them shut. He felt himself sway somehow, his legs swinging freely as the voices continued and the heat swelled again, oppressing and demanding attention from every deafening direction, until suddenly it crested and tapered, waning slowly until cool air ghosted hesitantly across Jaskier’s tear streaked face. He shivered despite his scalding skin as the roaring of the fire seemed to ebb into the background. Prevalent still, but white noise more than the deafening thunder it had been before, like the soft hum of a fan by his bedside, lulling him back to sleep.

When Jaskier opened his eyes again he couldn’t tell how much time had passed, if any at all. He stared straight up from where he lay and viewed the smattering of bright stars across the velvet black of the night sky. He felt light, and thought idly how nice it would be to go camping again. It had been years, after all. He tried to breath in the cool air, as if he could taste the peace of the night on his tongue, when a rough cough wracked his chest and tore through his throat, raking the sensitive flesh and sending him into a fit. He tried to sit up and felt support behind him, gently pushing him upright as he pawed at the oxygen mask clinging to his face.  


“Sir, can you hear me? Leave the mask, it’ll help." He heard through the fog. Jaskier could feel the hand on his back retreat and his eyes followed the motion. The man to his left was mountainous, tall and looming over him as he continued cutting the remains of Jaskier’s shirt from his chest. The woman to his right asked Jaskier a question he didn’t catch and didn’t hesitate to suddenly flick a bright light across his sensitive eyes.  


“Pupils PEARRL,” she stated clearly, “how’s the IV?” Jaskier had never seen such red hair, he noted airily. She was dressed in uniform, a dark blue button up tucked into slacks, with her hair braided back smartly from her round and freckled face.  


“Got it.” The man replied. Jaskier turned his attentions to where the man was manipulating his arm, and was shocked to find a catheter already protruding from the crease of his elbow as the man taped the end to his forearm. He hadn’t felt it at all. “Ciri, spike a bag please.” The man grumbled.  


“Done.” The voice behind him said. He tried to crane his head to see where it came from, but couldn’t maneuver much from his position lying against the raised back of the stretcher. He hadn’t even realized he was sitting up still and he mused to himself how odd it felt to be outside in a bed. The man made a noncommittal hum and looked at Jaskier’s face.  


“Sir, what’s your name?” Jaskier stared at him dumbly. He knew a question had been asked and how to answer, but it didn’t seem important and the exertion it would take to make his lips and brain to coordinate felt insurmountable. All he managed to focus on was the intensity of the gold in the man’s eyes. He latched on to them, studying him carefully as if memorizing him, taking in the stray wisps of silver hair working loose from under his cap, the intimidating scar across his left eye, and the stern look across his handsome face. But those eyes, the gold rims were what held him most, and Jaskier was in no mind to consider how rude it was to stare.  


“Pretty…” Jaskier rasped thoughtlessly. The medic frowned at him quizzically.  


“Bump his oxygen to 15 liters.” He directed to the woman somewhere behind Jaskier’s head. His golden eyes flicked back to Jaskier. “Do you know where you are?”  


That seemed to stir something in Jaskier’s brain and he turned his head to look around again. His eyes came to rest on his apartment across the street, still engulfed in roaring flame. The dots connect then, but he still didn’t answer, just let his eyes go wide and the tears fall where they may. He was suddenly so tired. He let his head fall back against the stretcher and gazed at the flames licking away at the remnants of his home. All his possessions, his clothes, his notebooks, his guitar. All of it up in smoke. An involuntary sob stuck in his throat and another coughing fit seized him without warning. It took a moment for him to settle again and he shuddered miserably in the cold night air.  


“Mm,” The man rumbled absently, impossibly deep, as he dragged the blanket splayed across Jaskier’s legs up into his lap, encouraging Jaskier to take it. “Sir, we’re going to take you to the hospital now, okay? Get you checked out.” Jaskier remained silent, but tore his gaze from the burning memories just out of reach, unable to be salvaged. He turned his gaze to the man instead, his eyes grounding him somewhat.  


“Can you tell me your name?” The man tried again. Jaskier cleared his throat carefully.  


“Jaskier.” He responded, voice scratchy and thin. He cleared his throat again.  


“Jaskier,” The man began, “my name is Geralt, I’m with the fire department. We’re going to take you to the hospital now, alright? Can you tell me where it hurts?”  
Jaskier tried to take another breath slowly, noting the tightness in his chest and the strain in his throat.  


“Mn, throat hurts.” Geralt nodded with another hum and motioned to the redheaded woman who stood to move at the head of the stretcher while Geralt squatted at the foot and on the woman’s count, they moved to lift and roll him back in to the ambulance. Geralt followed in behind to sit on the bench by Jaskier’s side while the redhead shut the doors at his feet. Jaskier heard no sirens as they pulled away, and tried to imagine that that was a good thing.

En route, Geralt asked more questions. Jaskier, usually as talkative as an excited first grader at Show and Tell, was uncharacteristically terse. His head was still foggy and his throat still aching and the mask on his face still made him feel as though he can’t breathe properly. Geralt didn’t fill the silence. Jaskier laid back against the scratchy sheets and closed his eyes as Geralt took his blood pressure for the third time. He let the waves of emotion crash over him, unsure of what to say or do. He had no home, where would he sleep? He had no guitar, how would he work? What’s a musician without an instrument, without a studio? All his notes were gone, bits and pieces of songs and scraps of lyrics littered throughout his apartment may as well have never existed.  


He felt the tears welling up again, stronger this time now that his breathing had evened out. They were hot and heavy and roll freely down his face when he made no move to wipe them. He pinched his eyes firmly shut as another sob ripped from his tender throat and he drew a shaky breath. He opened them when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, a firm squeeze in comfort, and met Geralt’s eyes like a fly trapped in the molten honey of his irises. His face was calm and neutral and his hand still lingered on Jaskier’s shoulder. The tears didn’t stop but fell harder then, and Jaskier could do nothing but choke on his sobs. He’d never been one for machismo or thinking things through and Jaskier was only a bit surprised at himself when he sunk his face into the medic’s chest. He couldn’t have cared less about the sudden tense of Geralt’s muscles beneath his cheek or the soon to be soaked fabric of his uniform, but was comforted still when a tentative hand gave him a feather light pat on the back. Jaskier swiped the damned mask from his face and curled his fists into Geralt’s shirt as he sobbed with abandon. For several minutes he did nothing but shake and snivel in the medic’s arms as the night finally caught up to him.  


Jaskier could feel Geralt rubbing small, smooth circles between his shoulder blades as he shushed him softly, without command behind it.  


“Shhh…shhh… breathe.” He instructed in that calm, low tone. Jaskier continued to draw shaky breaths, but could feel Geralt’s hand on his back slowly rubbing away the tension from his tired bones, and his sobs began to lose their fervor. When his bawling subsided to a pitiful hiccup, he came back to himself enough to feel just this side of mortified by his pathetic display in the arms of a stranger, one who could no doubt rip him in half with one hand. Jaskier couldn’t pull himself away, for as much as he was mesmerized by those golden eyes he didn’t think he could force himself to face the man’s probing stare, resigning himself to keeping his face nuzzled into the safety of his shoulder instead. He was exhausted, and sore, and so unbearably thirsty. Yet somehow it was all just a little easier like this, folded into strong arms like he was a half-drowned kitten rescued from the river.  


Jaskier had no idea how long they had been driving for, but when the ambulance stopped and the back doors were opened it was as if the illusion had broken and he was right back to being miserable and aching all over. That coupled with the mortification of Geralt having to gently disentangle him from his chest was almost too much to bear. He collected himself and sniffled as he sat back against the stretcher while Geralt moved to help unload. They wheeled him through the sliding doors and were greeted immediately by the charge nurse who directed them to an open room.  


Jaskier remained silent as he settled into the bed at the nurse’s instruction and watched her leave again without a word. He could see Geralt and the red haired woman through the glass door into the emergency department’s main floor. Geralt was speaking impassively, his face miraculously perfunctory as he recounted the night’s events to the nurse. Jaskier pointedly ignored the obvious wet stain on the front of Geralt’s otherwise immaculate uniform. He couldn’t hear well, but Jaskier heard a thank you from the nurse and a polite nod from both Geralt and his coworker, before he met those golden eyes again. Geralt’s face never changed, never twitched a muscle, but Jaskier startled when his breath suddenly came too sharp. He suppressed another coughing fit while Geralt’s eyes pinned him in place, unrelenting in their intensity. They only flicked away when the redhead spoke to him again and he turned to follow without another glance.


	2. A Man on a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier takes a walk to clear his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows what's going on at this point, certainly not me, but y'know I don't see anyone else writing it so I guess it's up to me.

“There ya go laddie, s’not much but it’ll do ya.” Zoltan drawled as he shook out the last blanket over the couch.  


“It’s perfect, Zoltan. Really, thank you.” Jaskier replied with sincerity.  


Jaskier had been discharged from the hospital that morning with instructions to come back if he had any trouble breathing and to drink plenty of water. His friend Zoltan had been kind enough to offer him his couch until Jaskier could piece himself back together, and he was in no position to refuse. Once he replaced all the documents he lost and the insurance claims were all over and paid out, he could find another place, but for now he was penniless and without the means to support himself. He had to take all the handouts he could get.  


“What’s mine is yores, o’course. Food in the fridge, extra blankets in the closet.” He gestured accordingly.  


“Thanks, hopefully I won’t be long. Be out of your hair in no time, you won’t even notice me.” Jaskier feigned cheerfully.  


Zoltan waved him off. “Nonsense boyo, yore welcome ta stay as long as ya need.” Jaskier gave him a tired smile and nodded gratefully. Zoltan gathered his keys from the counter and gave him a rueful look. “Sorry I can’t stay and get ya more settled, but I ought ta get back to it.”  


“No no, not at all! Don’t let me keep you.” Jaskier dismissed. It was Monday after all, he couldn’t expect his friend to stay home from work all day just to coddle him. With satisfied nod, Zoltan left him to familiarize himself with the small apartment. Jaskier had been before of course, spent a handful of nights on this very couch after a few too many, so there wasn’t much to explore. He paced the living room, ventured out onto the balcony, surveyed the fridge. Ultimately he’d decided a shower was in order, and he spent a good deal of time gently scrubbing his tender skin. He had been lucky his injuries from the fire had been minimal, some smoke inhalation and minor burns to his forearms, and he was sure to clean them gingerly. Zoltan had gone the extra mile for him and picked up some jeans and t shirts while Jaskier was still in the hospital. Now they were his only possessions, and he was grateful for them. 

Over the course of the week, Jaskier tried to make himself useful. Tidying the apartment, running errands for Zoltan and so on, but he was restless. He kept thinking back to that night, but not to the panic and fear so much as the man who had made that panic all but disappear. Geralt hadn’t left his mind since he’d left him back in the Emergency Department. The way his piercing eyes had lingered, the careful way he maintained his expression, the way he’d let Jaskier absolutely throw himself at him. It felt surreal, and it haunted him. Jaskier shook his head. He needed to clear his thoughts. He pulled on his sneakers, now the only pair he had, and headed out the door.

Jaskier knew the area well enough, it wasn’t too far from his own apartment, or his old apartment, he should say. He walked along past the grocer. It was the same one that had been there probably since the town was founded, while the businesses around it all inevitably grew and moved or closed down all together only to have a new shop take its place in a few weeks, the grocer stood as humble and unyielding as it ever had. Jaskier continued on past the movie theater and tried to recall the last time he had actually been. He supposed it had been a while, since he actually couldn’t remember. He gave a passing thought to if the theater had changed, too. Eventually he made his way into the park and hummed to himself as he watched the dogs jog merrily on leashes, ducks squealing impatiently for bread from any passing elderly, and the songbirds flittering nervously above their heads. He marveled how normal it all seemed, as if his whole world hadn’t been upended in a such a violent explosion only a week before. How miraculous it was, that even though an individual’s life had been forever altered, nearly snuffed out entirely, the world continued on as if it hadn’t noticed. It was almost comforting in a morose kind of way.  


When the main path through the park dumped him out on the opposite side he continued down the sidewalk, directionless once again. He crossed the street at the light and headed deeper into the city, where the buildings began to rise higher and higher and the steady buzz of traffic around him helped drown out his sullen thoughts. At least he wasn’t thinking about Geralt for once.  


A car horn blaring across the street lifted his eyes from his own feet as he walked. The car had already come and gone, but Jaskier glanced around him and stuttered to a halt on the pavement. He always knew the fire station now directly across the street from him had been here, had walked by it to get to the grocery store a thousand times, almost got run over by a fire engine more than once, but now standing on the sidewalk outside it was like it had suddenly materialized out of thin air right in front of him. And suddenly the tall, well built firefighter who’d saved his life barely a week ago that had been plaguing his thoughts solidified as much more than just a memory. It hit Jaskier then that the man who saved him was much more than just a specter in the back of his mind, but a living breathing human who could quite possibly be just on the other side of the wall before him. He didn’t quite know what to do about it. He could just… walk inside and say hello to him. Oh god, could he do that? Oh god, he could actually do that.  


Jaskier eyed the station warily, as if sirens might go off if he stepped too close. Was that a thing that people did? People did that right? Were pedestrians allowed to go into fire stations? That seems like a thing people should be able to do. After all, the man who saved his life was possibly inside, he should properly express his thanks, right? Thankfully, Jaskier reflected as he stepped off the curb, he had never had much self preservation.

The front door was heavy to the point Jaskier almost thought they were locked, but the waiting room inside was brightly lit and clean, with plaques and old photographs hanging from the walls and a large display case in the corner. He lingered in the doorway, taking in the room wondering where exactly we was allowed to go. The only way forward was a door to his left he had to assume lead to the vehicle bay, and a long hallway directly ahead. He moved about the room to observe the trinkets inside the display case, admiring the well worn turnout gear, the helmets and axes and stethoscopes from days past.  


“Hello, can I help you with something?” Jaskier startled. He hadn’t heard the young woman approach, but she was smiling kindly at him and her tone was warm. She was beautiful, no more than early twenties, with silvery blonde hair and kind, sharp green eyes. She wore the same uniform Jaskier had seen that night, and she wore it well.  


“Ah,” Jaskier responded smartly. He hadn’t thought much about what he planned to do or say once he’d gone inside. Only that it felt like the thing to do at the time. Now, standing in the lobby of the station with the young woman looking at him expectantly, he felt rather foolish.  


“Is, ah, Geralt in?” He felt pathetic. Geralt probably wasn’t even working today. He probably didn’t even work at this station. Jaskier knew there was another one on the other side of town and Geralt certainly wouldn’t even remember him anyway, he must save dozens of people every week no doubt. This was ridiculous.  


“Geralt? Sure, I think he’s in the rec room. Are you a… family member?” She asked giving him a polite once over.  


“Er, no, just an… acquaintance.” He lied.  


The woman just gave him another quizzical smile. “I’ll see if he’s able to take visitors.” She told him as she turned away and retreated back down the hall.  


“Thank you.” Jaskier mumbled mostly to himself. He turned back to the display case before wandering the room, browsing the collections of photos along the walls, reading the plaques and awards. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there awkwardly shuffling from wall to wall, but again he was taken aback when a gruff voice snuck up on him.  


“Can I help you?” Jaskier jumped near a foot in the air as he spun to look at Geralt standing at the mouth of the hallway. From the waist down he was dressed in the same uniform as before, but his button up was missing and he stood before Jaskier with a sweaty untucked Fire Department t shirt stretched tightly across his chest and a hand towel around his neck. His forehead had a bright sheen across it and though his long silver hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, some wisps had pulled loose and stuck lightly to his damp face. His arms, now free of the frankly oppressive sleeves, were glistening with sweat and though his breathing was even, it was deep. Jaskier could only stare.  


“You’re the… patient. From the fire.” Geralt prompted. Jaskier blinked back into focus.  


“Yes!” He said a little too loudly, “Yes, I uh, I wanted to thank you. For that.” He stuttered. “Thank you. For saving my life.”  


Geralt hummed. “How’re you doing?”He asked crossing his arms over his chest.  


“Good! Good. Well, good, considering I’m not dead I suppose, not great. But okay.” Geralt hummed again but otherwise let a not-particularly-comfortable silence fall between them. Jaskier had never been very good at tolerating silence. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your workout.” He tried gesturing at the firefighter’s disheveled uniform.  


Geralt looked down at his sweat soaked shirt and grunted, dabbing the end of the towel to his slick forehead. “You didn’t. Just finishing up.”  


“Good. Good…” Jaskier was known for filling silences, but his well of vocabulary suddenly ran dry and he could not for the life of him think of what to say to this man. “So, I uh, I was just in the area and thought I should thank you… for everything.”  


“Mm, so you said.”  


“Right, yes, I did say that already…” Jaskier was fiddling furiously with the hem of his shirt while Geralt only looked at him curiously, immobile as a statue and twice as beautiful. His physique was truly immaculate and his eyes made Jaskier want to shiver, every time he’d ever seen them they trapped his gaze like a cat backed into a doghouse with nowhere to go. He was transfixed even now as he stood fidgeting in silence. His breathing sounded too heavy for his own ears and he wondered vaguely if Geralt could hear it. He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m very grateful. And I’d like to repay you somehow. I could take you out for coffee sometime? Maybe?” He offered.  


Jaskier rarely knew where he was going when he started sentences, he would just throw words out with the hope that he would find a train of thought somewhere along the way. This was an instance in which he very much wished he had some semblance of a script. One that might have prevented him from blurting out a longwinded proposition for a date to the ridiculously attractive firefighter who had saved his life. Geralt’s eyes never left his and his expression didn’t flicker.  


“I don’t need thanks.” He replied.  


“No, I didn’t imply… I just thought… I’d like to thank you anyway.” Jaskier smiled brightly at him. Geralt’s eyes did flicker then, a lightening quick once over before holding Jaskier’s gaze again. An eyebrow raised in question, encouraging him to continue. “There’s a shop down the street from where I’m staying, cookies to die for, I promise!” Geralt’s mouth twitched noticeably and Jaskier beamed.  


“Mm,” Geralt rumbled, “I could do that.”  


There was a beat of silence. “Really?” Jaskier let slip without thinking. He was floored, absolutely nonplussed at Geralt’s easy response. “Oh that’s great!” He finally sang. “This weekend then? Friday?”  


“Working Friday, Saturday’s better.” Geralt compromised while crossing his arms across his broad chest.  


“Saturday then, perfect, let’s say around ten.” Geralt nodded. “It’s the cutest little place, it’s called the Chameleon, on 25th and Jameson? The coffee’s good but everyone goes for the little cakes and like I said the cookies are-” Jaskier’s rambling was interrupted by a low chime, growing steadily louder as the lights grew from pleasantly natural to blindingly bright. Jaskier hadn’t realized how soft Geralt’s expression had smoothed over until it immediately hardened again, his brow crinkling and his lips pressing into a firm line as he wrenched the towel from his neck.  


“Gotta go.” He growled as he turned on his heel. He paused to give the younger man a final nod. “Saturday.” He confirmed over his shoulder.  
Jaskier stood dumbfounded, recovering only after Geralt’s eyes left him and the man loped to the door to the bay before punching a code into the locked keypad and bounding through, a man on a mission.  


“Right, Saturday, see you then! Good luck!” He added after the door had already closed. Jaskier stood there for a moment, unsure of what he’d just done. Had he really just asked out Geralt? Had he asked him out, or was he just buying him a coffee? Fuck, was this a date or not? He hadn’t specified, but he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to say the word “date” to Geralt if he’d tried. It was like he’d blacked out and the words had just flown from his lips on their own like blood from a vein. He turned to go, back through the heavy double doors he’d come from. Stepping outside, the sun was too bright and the air too hot for his skin, when the bay doors to the station on his right clanged loudly and began to raise. When they opened fully an ambulance pulled forward slowly, and Jaskier recognized the red haired woman from the other night, looking both ways before darting out into the street, sirens blaring. A fire engine followed suit and Jaskier couldn’t keep from staring at Geralt in the driver’s seat, wearing a helmet and a thick brown coat that made the mountain of a man look an absolute giant. There were others in the truck as well, and he noticed Geralt didn’t appear to be listening to the man in the passenger seat. He was looking straight at Jaskier again. He looked away quickly to press the buttons above his head and the strobe lights began flashing brilliantly. He pulled out behind the ambulance as the sirens sounded and was gone as suddenly as he had come. Jaskier listened to the sirens fade slowly before the bustle of the city around him drowned them out completely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I have no idea what's happening but I refuse to quit on this idea until I figure it out.

“Yer frettin’.” Zoltan droned. Jaskier huffed at him but continued to wear a trail in the carpet where he paced the living room. It was already nine in the morning on Saturday. Jaskier had showered and dressed and straightened his couch-bed and styled his hair 3 different ways before washing it out and starting over again.  


“I am not fretting.” He retorted. “I’m just bored with nothing to do until ten.”  


Zoltan guffawed. “Ya bought a new outfit jus fer this! No point arguin’ ya ain’t but a wee bit nervous.” Jaskier gave him an affronted look.  


“I needed new clothes, Zoltan! So I bought some new clothes. If I happen to have an outing where I get to wear said new clothes then so be it.” The bearded man only huffed and chuckled at him as Jaskier continued to fuss with the collar of his jacket. It was a lovely deep red and the faux leather was soft against his skin. Maybe he had splurged a little on it, but did he not deserve an item of comfort for what he’d been through?  


“Well I hope the lad knows what he’s gettin into with the likes a you.” He mused.  


“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jaskier smiled fondly.  


“That not many can handle ya, ya Dandelion.” Zoltan grinned back. Jaskier smirked, unperturbed. The man knew he was a handful, but he was nothing if not comfortable with himself. What kind of musician would he be without abundant self confidence? “But,” Zoltan continued, “I suppose firefighters can handle most near anything, eh?”

Jaskier was not a nervous man by nature. Nervous to him had always meant he was on the precipice of something exciting. He would feel it before a performance, when ripples of goosebumps rolled beneath his skin, or when he’d left home and had felt that satisfying prickle in the base of his skull as he walked into his first apartment for the first time. Now it left something heavy in the pit of his stomach that unsettled him. He was killing time as best he could, playing games on Zoltan’s old beaten iPhone he’d been given, but the minutes stretched endlessly. It might’ve been a bit overkill to head to the shop so early, but the more Jaskier had paced the living room the worse the anxious itch in his teeth had gotten. It was better to be outside and walking than standing inside and overthinking.  


Jaskier was putting an extraordinary amount of effort into pointedly not looking at the clock in the corner of the screen. He was focusing very hard on not focusing on anything at all to the point that it took a shadow across his screen to pull his attention up into those strangely mesmeric eyes. Geralt stood before him in simple jeans and a long sleeve black button up rolled to the elbows and Jaskier nearly swooned at the way it made the swell of his arms threaten to burst the seams. His hair was swept back from his face and pulled into a messy bun. He wasn’t smiling per se but his face was smooth and unbothered. Jaskier smiled wide enough for the both of them.  


“Geralt, good morning!” He beamed. Geralt nodded at him and pulled the corner of his lip just so, a smile of sorts if you squinted hard enough.  


“Good morning.” He returned.  


“How’ve you been? How was work yesterday? Did you heroically rescue anyone?” Geralt puffed air from his nose at that in an amused huff.  


“I rescued a middle aged man from a stomachache at three in the morning.” He quipped.  


“Oooh, he makes jokes.” Jaskier teased genuinely thrilled. Geralt’s mouth pulled at the corners again, just a bit.  


“Maybe I’d make more if I had some coffee in me.”  


“Ah but of course, right this way!” Jaskier gestured dramatically. There was a small fenced courtyard for outdoor seating before the entryway and Jaskier led the man through the tangle of small metal tables and loosely clumped chairs to the door. The patio was crowded, most of the tables occupied. Geralt followed diligently behind Jaskier who held the door open behind himself. Geralt did not seem the type that needed doors held for him. 

With their drinks collected and a table in the corner of the outdoor seating area selected they sat across from each other. Jaskier cursed Zoltan internally when he had to admit he did feel a bit nervous swimming in the silence between them. He was nervous Geralt would feel awkward if he let the silence drag on, and he was nervous Geralt would get annoyed if he filled it with mindless chatter the way he always did. So far it was obvious Geralt wasn’t much of a talker, but he’d been a receptive listener. Jaskier had pointed out all the best cookies in the display case and chittered on and on about how this place’s coffee was the only one in the city that didn’t burn their shots. The taller man had taken his verbal tsunami in stride, nodding between Jaskier’s minute pauses to indicate he was still following. Jaskier didn’t want to overdo it, but he was truly dying to ask Geralt all sorts of questions. He must live an exciting life no doubt and was sure to be full of amazing and heroic stories.  


“So, what made you want to become a firefighter? Or do you consider yourself a paramedic more than a fireman? Are all firefighters medics, too?”  


“Mm.” Geralt began, setting his coffee down. “No, not all firefighters are medics. They all have some medical training, but I actually went to school to become a full paramedic. Guess you could say it runs in the family. Dad was a chief, and my both my brothers are fighters too.”  


“Wow, that’s incredible.” Jaskier said sincerely impressed. “Is it just the two brothers or do you have sisters too?”  


“Just the two lovable assholes.” Geralt quipped. Jaskier hummed amused over the lid of his cup.  


“And what does Mom do? She’s not in on the family business?”  


“Wouldn’t know.” Geralt stated simply. “We’re all adopted. It was… strange circumstances. But my father took me in when I was ten, a few years later he took in Eskel when he was the same age, and Lambert a year or so after that when he was 9.”  


“Aww, I love that! He must be a great man.” Geralt nodded in reply and left it at that. “Where did you grow up then?” Jaskier continued.  


“Alaska mostly.”  


“I’ve never been myself, but I hear it’s beautiful.”  


Geralt nodded again and took another sip. “Can be.”  


“Did you move here straight from Alaska?”  


Geralt wiped the foam from his lip with the back of his hand as he seemed to consider Jaskier. “I’ve always been a nomad, never stayed in one place too long.”  


“What makes you leave?” Jaskier wondered aloud. Geralt had let his eyes drift around the courtyard, watching the birds and people and dogs, but his burning irises returned to Jaskier’s.  


“Maybe I’m just looking for something to stay for.”  


Jaskier's mouth hung slightly open and he clicked it shut to swallow down the sudden dryness in his throat. That was certainly profound, he thought to himself. Geralt’s eyes were wandering again, only having briefly connected with Jaskier’s enough to accentuate his point before sliding away, back to the throng of passing foot traffic beyond their fenced in seats.  


“Mmm.” Jaskier replied late.  


“What about you? You’re a musician, I would expect you to travel.” Geralt asked facing him again. His elbows rested on the table in from of him and he had one hand wrapped around the fist of the other, leaning them against his chin and obscuring his mouth. Not that it was particularly expressive anyway, Jaskier thought, but it made him that much harder to read. He cleared his throat.  


“That’s true. I’ve only been here about a year.” He confirmed. “Personally, I don’t think I’m looking for reasons to stay so much as I keep finding reasons to go.”  


“Such as?” Geralt prompted with a raised brow.  


Jaskier shrugged a shoulder. “People. Usually. Ones I’d rather leave behind. Or rumors of better things lying in wait somewhere else.” Jaskier peered over his coffee, holding it lightly to his lips without sipping.  


“Hmm.” Geralt smirked behind his hands. “Guess you really are a poet.” Jaskier gave a huff but smiled back.

Jaskier was relieved with the ease with which he was able to banter with Geralt. The answers to Jaskier’s numerous questions seemed genuine and thoughtful, though brief. They were far from curt, they were just concise. Geralt didn’t need long winded explanations evidently. Neither had noticed the time slip away from them, but Geralt blinked in surprise when he looked down to his phone.  


“Shit.” He said flatly. “It’s late. I need to get going.” Jaskier deflated a bit but kept his easy smile.  


“Right.” He said cheerfully enough, slapping a hand to the tabletop as he followed Geralt’s lead to stand. “Don’t let me keep you.”  


“Not at all. This was nice.” Jaskier smiled wider and it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Next time you’ll have to let me pay though.” Jaskier had to fight hard to keep his smile under control. He felt high as a kite and the grin that threatened to split his face was insistent.  


“I don’t know, you saved my life remember, and I’ll have you know my life is worth quite a few coffees.”  


Geralt crooked the corner of his mouth and Jaskier marveled at how stoic a man could pull off such a sassy face. “Alright, you can stick to buying the coffees,” he said slowly, “and I’ll buy dinner.” The breath escaped Jaskier’s lungs and he sucked in another so quickly he was certain it was audible. He had hoped Geralt had considered this little outing a date, but the line had been blurry up until now. The proposition of dinner was an unexpectedly clear statement that had Jaskier both absolutely giddy with excitement and relieved that both men now knew where they stood. Jaskier hadn’t responded so Geralt continued, “Or I can cook.”  


“Sounds lovely.” Jaskier managed. His voice sounded small in his own ears but Geralt took no notice. “Just say when and where.” He tried more firmly.  


“Tomorrow night? 8 o’clock my place?” The brunet couldn’t be more thrilled with how this was going. A late dinner; implying Jaskier was expected to stay well into the night. Possibly into the morning if he played his cards right.  


“Perfect. Text me the address.”  


They exchanged numbers and Jaskier knew he’d have a field day deciding on a contact name for this absolute unit that had captured his heart in less than a cumulative three hours. At the courtyard gate he watched Geralt’s back as he walked away with hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders sure to linger in Jaskier’s mind for days to come.  


Or at least until tomorrow night when he’d be able to get his hands on them.


End file.
